No Place Like Home
by XXforget-x-me-x-notXX
Summary: Stan is back in South Park after college, and a lot has changed. All he wants to do is get out of the town and never look back.
1. Home

I collapsed on the bathroom floor, and everything was spinning. I wanted to grab onto something to steady myself, but I was sure that my hands would fail me. I felt so nauseous. Either I was about to throw up, or I just had. I honestly wasn't completely sure. I could barely keep my eyes open, let alone truly process what was happening around me.

There was light knock on the door. Or at least, I think there was. I kept being unsure until I heard a voice through the door. "Stan? You doing okay, bro?"

"I'm good," I answered, my words slurring together. "Jus' go back to the party, don' worry about me."

Kenny opened the door. "Dude, can you even form real words right now?"

I leaned against the wall, and brought my hand to my face. "I don' feel so good"

"God, drink much, Stan? What've you been doing in college?"

I chuckled. "Work."

"Well, that's just not what college is for."

The room started folding in upon itself, the colors blending and the walls caving over. I just got home after graduating from University of Denver, and Kenny insists on taking me to a party to celebrate. This probably wasn't a good idea. I wanted to un-drink those beers, un-drink those shots. Some celebration. "I shouldn't 've taken those last shots, dude…"

Kenny laughed. "See, this is why you should've partied more at school. You would've figured out your limits."

"Ugh. No party. No alcohol. Why" I whined.

"You'll feel better when you get to a bed," he replied, throwing my arm over his shoulders and propping me up. He half dragged me around, and I heard the loud music and people talking. I'm pretty sure someone came and asked Kenny if he needed any help, but I was almost passed out already.

Kenny dropped me on a bed- presumably Craig's, since it was his house- and threw a blanket over me. "You gonna be okay?"

"I think so," I mumbled, drifting away already.

He moved the trashcan next to the bed. "Just use this if you need to throw up. See you tomorrow, alright?"

"Kay" And then I was out.

I was awoken by the sun shining directly on my face. I tried to turn away from it, only to realize that I had a splitting headache. The movement hadn't helped, so now I was awake, still nauseous, and my head was pounding. I lay there for a while longer, hoping I'd just go back to sleep and not wake up until it had gotten dark again.

I don't know how long I lay there. It must've been a while, because the sun appeared to have moved away from me. My mouth was completely dry. I don't remember ever being this thirsty in my life. But I just knew if I stood up, I'd either puke or my headache would bring me right back down. I tried counting down from ten several times to motivate myself to stand. I intended to get up when it got to one, but that just didn't seem to be happening.

I swear, I was so close to getting up, I was just about to. Then the door swung open.

"Rise and shine, cupcake!" Kenny said, in the cheeriest voice I have ever heard from him.

I groaned and shoved my face into the pillow. "Go away," I said, my voice muffled.

"That's not very nice, Stan. I brought you water!" He said, acting overly offending.

"Water?" I said weakly into the pillow.

"Yes, but you have to lean up to get it," he replied, sitting next to me on the bed.

I leaned up slowly, propping myself up on my arm. My head started pounding even more, to the point where I swear, I could hear the thumping. I groaned again, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm never getting drunk again."

"Don't blame the alcohol for your own mistakes," he replied. "Just 'cause you don't know your limits."

I took the water from it and drank the glass in about three sips. "I need more water."

"Well, I'm not a waiter today, get it yourself."

I whined a bit. "But my head hurts so much."

"Fine, I'll go get you another glass," he said, as he started to get up. He paused for a moment and then snapped his fingers right next to my ear.

I flinched and he laughed. "That seemed unnecessary.."

"Maybe. Funny, though," he replied as he walked out the door.

I stood up, head still swirling. I leaned against the wall, bracing myself on the headboard of the bed. I have never been this hungover in my life. I guess maybe Kenny is right. Maybe I should've done more drinking in college. Truth is, it's not that I didn't want to drink, or that I was too busy studying. I just didn't have it in me to go to parties or bars. All the shit that happened here really messed with me, and I just didn't know how to deal with it, I guess.

I barely wanted to come back to South Park after graduation. I was kind of hoping I could just get a job in Denver and stay there. I'd have to get an apartment, though, and actually find a job with my oh-so-useful English degree.

I guess Kenny's been doing well, working as a waiter and drinking his way through his days off. He's probably pretty happy now that he can get alcohol at a party instead of at the bar. He told me that he was really excited to see everyone who was back from college, but even more excited because Craig got a keg for the party.

Kenny came back with more water and I drank it just as fast as the last cup. "Okay, I'm starting to feel like a real person again."

"That's good, because we have stuff to do today!" Kenny said, sounding so annoyingly sunny I wanted to throw something at him.

"Not for at least fives hours," I replied.

"Really? Because I was thinking we could go go-karting, or watch an action movie, or go to a sports game, really anything where there's just a lot of noise."

"I hate you sometimes, Ken."

He laughed. "I'm sure I deserve it. Anyway, you should probably get home. It's six in the morning, and if you get there fast enough, you can sleep for another several hours."

We said goodbye, he said he'd call me or text me later, and I left. There were several people sprawled across the couches, and some just lying on the floor. I saw Tweek with whipped cream in his hair, Clyde with sharpie on his face, and Bebe with lipstick spread across her cheeks. Must've been a fun night, I guess. Too bad I was passed out for most of it.

I got home and collapsed onto my bed, dreading having to spend my first real day back hungover and dreading who I could run into.


	2. Ghosts

I guess I woke up around two in the afternoon. It took me another half hour afterwards to actually drag myself out of bed and get dressed. The hangover seemed to be more or less gone, though everything still seemed a bit hazy. I just felt a little absent, as opposed to like I was dying.

I figured I might as well go for a walk. It seemed nice enough outside, and maybe the fresh air would help me recover from last night. I decided to head to Tweek's for coffee. God knows I could use quite a bit of caffeine right now.

I heard noises in the kitchen while I was leaving, so I guess I managed to narrowly miss talking to my parents. I felt kind of bad, avoiding them like this. I did only just get home yesterday, and almost immediately after that, I left for Kenny's. I just really don't want to have my dad ask about all the girls I had in college, and I don't want my mom to be fawning over me, telling me how glad she is that I'm finally home. I haven't really been home since I left. Despite how close I was in Denver, I haven't come back very often. I barely came back for Christmas, and I wouldn't have if I could've helped it. I was only home for five days over Christmas each year. I never came home for Thanksgiving, or Spring Break, or summers. I could always find something. A program, an opportunity, and fun vacation with friends. I even went abroad one summer.

I guess my parents think that I was just so happy in college and I had made so many friends. I have met some pretty cool people, but they're far from being the reason I don't want to come home. South Park is full of ghosts, and I'm just not ready to face them yet. I should probably get ready to, though, because I'm sure I'll see them soon.

I got to the coffee shop just in time to see my ex-girlfriend, Wendy. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

"Stan, oh my god! It's been so long, how have you been?" She came over and gave me a hug. She had to stand on her tip toes because of how much taller than her I am.

"I've been good. Just graduated college, I'm back home until I figure things out," I replied. "How about you?"

"Yeah, about the same. I just got back a few days ago," she said. She looked good. Her hair was much shorter than the last time I saw her. All throughout high school, her black hair went all the way down her back. Now, it barely grazed her shoulders. She wore make up now, too, which was new.

"Yeah, I got back yesterday," I said. "It's weird being back, you know? After everything."

Her smile faded. "Yeah. I barely ever came back for breaks. I don't know how Kenny does it, just staying here. It seems like too much."

"I guess he just got used to it." I sighed. "I'm not sure I ever could."

"Me neither," she said. There was a pause, and I really didn't know what to say.

Luckily, she just told me that she needed to go and gave me another quick hug. I was pretty relieved that she didn't want to talk or hang out or anything. I guess it sounds kind of cold, but I didn't really have an interest in reconnecting with any old high school friends.

I walked inside of the coffee shop, and Tweek was behind the counter, cleaning and organizing like a maniac. I guess the lulls are hard for him, since he can barely sit still as it is.

"Hey, Tweek," I said, in the friendliest tone I could muster up.

He still jumped. I saw him close his eyes and count to ten. I recognized that tactic of calming down from when Mr. Mackey had to talk to all of us about what happened at the school. I guess Tweek hasn't quite recovered.

He turned sharply, his hands still shaking. His hair was a mess and he had coffee stains all over his shirt. "H-hey Stan… What can I get for you?" he said, his voice straining in an effort to keep it steady.

"Just a regular coffee," I replied. "How you been, man?"

He shrugged as he took the money from me. "Pretty good. Just been here."

"What about college? I thought you went to Boulder."

He got red and turned away swiftly to fill the cup. "Didn't end up working out. Do you want room for cream?"

"No, thanks, I'm good," I said. I wasn't really sure why I said that, since I always take my coffee with sugar and cream. I guess I just didn't want to request anything from Tweek. I probably would've just said no to anything he asked._ Do you need the coffee in a cup? No, no, I'm good, don't go out of your way. _

He handed the coffee to me and tried to smile. "Have a nice day."

I could tell he wanted me to leave. He clearly wasn't in any state to see anyone from high school. Wendy and I, we could just leave and escape all of South Park. The best bet that people like Tweek and Kenny had was to just hope any of their ghosts left and never came back.

Kenny hadn't told me that Tweek still lived here. Maybe they avoided each other, in the same way Tweek wanted me to leave. Maybe they just worked in different places, kept their heads down, didn't make eye contact. Seems like the best tactic, to be honest. I would probably do the same thing if I were in their situation.

"Yeah, you too. See you around," I said. I walked out with my coffee and cursed myself for not even adding sugar to it. I hate black coffee. But I just felt so bad being in there, like I should've avoided Tweek or something. I'll just suffer through the bitterness. It's worth it for the caffeine.

At Mr. Mackey's seminar senior year, he told us there were two ways we could deal with what had happened. Either we could bond over it, over our shared experience, and help each other get through it. We could become close, and stay in touch, and truly understand each other. He told us that since we all went through it together, we were really the only ones that understood how it felt. Or we could abandon each other and escape by ourselves, and become closed off, avoiding any reminders, including people. I guess we all chose the second one.


	3. Insomnia

A week since the party, and I've managed to avoid pretty much everyone. I've been leaving before breakfast, far away job searching during the day, hiding out in my room in the evenings. My parents have barely seen me, I haven't visited my sister, haven't gotten in touch with any other high school friends... I haven't even gone to get coffee in town. I basically deal with my no-caffeine haze until I've driven at least a town over.

I think I've gotten too good at this. I've been running from this place for so long, it's practically muscle memory to avoid staying here.

When I was fourteen, and Wendy and I got back together for the thousandth time, I had trouble not hiding from her. For a week afterward, I kept ducking into classrooms, stairwells, bathrooms, every time I saw her. When I admitted to her that I was accidentally still avoiding her as a reflex, she admitted she'd been doing the same thing. I wonder if the town itself wants me to leave as much as I do.

Kenny has called me several times. And every time, I just stare at my phone until it stops ringing. I feel awful, ignoring him like this. But I just can't help it. Hanging out with him sober is hard. He brings back the ghosts I try so hard to push away. I know I have to face him at some point.

I hope when of the places I gave my resume to calls soon. I'm going crazy sitting around in this fucking place.

And as per usual, I couldn't get to sleep. Despite the fact that I'd woken up before the sun came up, driven all the way to Denver, walked around for ages, went on a run… I haven't been able to sleep well since I got back.

After hours of tossing and turning, I decided to go on a walk. I figured I could clear my head, maybe solve the restlessness. And at three in the morning, who would still be out?

The streets are so quiet at night. Too quiet, and too dark. All the houses seemed empty. At times like this, I never feel sure that the town hasn't been abandoned.

My feet automatically took me to Stark's Pond. I seem to always end up here when I'm in town, no matter where I'm intending to go. It's a reflex, an subconscious response. I went here after every break up, every fight, every horrible things. It's like a safe space. Nothing bad happens here.

"So you are still alive!" an animated and cigarette-damaged voice said behind me. "What a relief. I'm not the only one us left."

I laughed weakly. "Ken, I'm not sure if it's funny yet."

He sat down beside me on the bench. "Yeah? When will it be funny? Having to wait to be allowed to laugh is really ruining my coping method."

I sighed. "Every time I laugh, I feel like I'm a terrible person."

"I know what you mean," he replied. I couldn't look at him. I stared at the reflection of the stars in the water, watching the wind make tiny waves across the surface.

We sat for a while in silence. The only sound was an occasional rustle of the wind through the trees. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, and a ringing in my ears. I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"So I guess you've been avoiding me," Kenny said, finally breaking the silence.

And as much as I wanted the silence to end, that topic wouldn't have been my first choice. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I get it," he let out a loud sigh, and leaned far back on the bench. "You remind me, too. It's hard to be around everyone. Especially so suddenly. I used to only have to avoid Tweek, and that was never hard."

"Yeah, I saw him the day after the party. Didn't know he was at home."

"It seems he had a breakdown at Boulder. Some sort of anxiety attack that ended especially badly. He's been back home ever since. On suicide watch for a while, on and off all kind of meds that didn't help. People tried to get me to help him out and be there for him or some shit, but…"

He trailed off, but I was barely listening anyway. I had tensed up. My mind was stuck on the word _suicide, _echoing in all the corners of my mind. I shook it away and snapped back to the present, but my hands were still shaking a little.

"Seems like that would be a little much," I replied.

"Tell me about it. As though I need someone else to take care of."

I finally managed to look at Kenny. His blond hair was sticking out in every direction, as though he'd just stepped inside after a hurricane, and there were dark purple circles under his bloodshot eyes.

"So what are you doing up at three in the morning?"

He grinned. "Oh, you know, same thing as you. Having a nice leisurely walk."

I stared at him for a moment, examining his bright and animated smile. I wondered how he could manage that. I forced out a small chuckle.

He glanced at me. "I haven't been sleeping well. Not in years."

I looked back at the pond. "I slept alright in college. When I had so many distractions, and no reminders."

"Funny how we complain about things bringing back memories, yet we always seem to end up on this same bench. Nothing says nostalgia like Stark's Pond."

I let out a genuine laugh before I caught myself. I looked down, almost ashamed. "At least they're good memories," I said softly.

"Have you been back to the school?" he asked, his voice sounding a little strained.

"No," I answered, maybe too quickly. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Kenny replied. He chewed his lower lip for a moment before continuing. "I went back. Recently. They shut it down a few years ago, but they haven't quite gotten around to tearing the actual building down yet. I broke in one night. It was kind of surreal, seeing the classrooms and hallways so empty and quiet. I ran out of there after about ten minutes. I ended up running straight here. Accidentally."

"Yeah, that seems to happen with Stark's Pond," I paused. "I'm not sure I would've lasted ten minutes."

He smiled. "It's a miracle that I did."

We sat there in silence for a while, a much more comfortable silence this time. I'm not sure how long we stayed there exactly, but it was enough time for the sky to get a few shades lighter before I ended up leaving to go to bed.

But I still couldn't get to sleep.


	4. Running

I don't know how many resumes I've printed out, how many places I've handed it out to, how many hours I've spent wandering around looking for places I'd be willing to work. My standards have dropped a little. Still no calls. I've double and tripled checked the number to make sure I didn't write it down wrong.

I can't keep doing this. It's exhausting, sleeping here in South Park and spending the rest of my damned time anywhere else. I have spent far too much money on gas in the last few weeks. Without any income to speak of, it's been making a dent in what little money I have saved up. Fuck, I need a job.

I woke up and made myself coffee in the house for the first time since I'd gotten home. It was a Wednesday, so I'd assumed my parents would be at work or something. I did feel bad for avoiding them like this, but not bad enough to stop.

After drinking my coffee, I sat around staring at walls. Hiding from the town felt a lot more pathetic when I wasn't running around, constantly busy. Sitting in one place and really thinking about how fucked up it was to avoid the town like this was almost unbearable. I felt like such a coward, such a pussy.

I ended up wandering around outside around town. It was eleven in the morning, and the streets seemed mostly abandoned. I guess most people are at work. Or if they didn't have to get up for work, they probably just stayed in. Or left town for the day, like I've been doing. I imagined I wasn't the only one desperate to get out of here.

I ended up at Tweek's coffee again, and stood outside for a few minutes, just waiting. I didn't know what I was waiting for. I also didn't know why I came here. I'd already had coffee, and I really didn't want to stress Tweek out any more than he already inevitably was.

But the desire for more coffee, and to just do something other than wander, became more significant than the desire to leave Tweek alone, so I walked in.

Luckily, Tweek looked over, so I didn't have to startle him by speaking this time.

"Hey, Tweek," I said, walking up to the counter.

"Hi, Stan," he replied, managing a smile. He seemed to be doing okay today, I thought. Not as jittery.

"Could I get a coffee with room for cream?" I asked.

He nodded and grabbed a cup, filling it up. "How have you been doing? Being back, I mean."

I shrugged. "I really haven't been staying in town if I can help it. Looking for work elsewhere at the moment. How have you been? Being back so much?"

He sighed. "Some days are better than others. Here's your coffee."

I thanked him, put cream and sugar in, and left.

As I walked and drank, I thought about what he said. Some days are better than others for him, clearly, since he was practically having a panic attack that first day and he seemed relatively calm today. But I'm not sure that's true for me. It seems to be a steady not-as-good-as-it-could-be for me, every day. I don't have terrible days, but I don't have good days. It's all just a few degrees below average.

I froze, seeing where I had walked. I was standing directly in front of the school. South Park High. The windows were boarded up, for the most part, though some were just broken. Illegible graffiti was scattered along the sides. It was so quiet, so empty. I could practically hear the echoes of laughter and voices in my ears.

All I could think was that if Kenny could do it, then so could I.

I walked to one of the broken windows and climbed inside. The window went into the main downstairs hallway. I looked around and walked slowly, staring at the lockers with the chipped red paint and the empty classrooms. There were dead leaves that had gathered in piles in corners, presumably from the wind and the unblocked windows. I tried to keep my footsteps quiet, stepping as lightly as possible, but they still echoed.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I stopped. The looked uninviting, cold, dark. I wasn't sure I'd be able to get up them without slipping, or without collapsing, or without being swallowed by them. _But if Kenny can do it, then so can I. _I took a deep breath and walked up as steadily as I could. My hands we shaking, but I didn't want to touch the railing. I didn't want to touch anything. I thought it might make it all feel more real.

When I got to the top of the stairs, the hallway looked like it would go on forever. I secretly hoped it would. I knew where I was going, which room I was going to. But my hands shook, and my heart raced, and I didn't want to get there, I just didn't.

The door was open. And as I stared into it, my heart got faster and so did my breathing. I clenched my fists, my throat felt like it was closing up, my eyes burned. I could barely breathe, I could barely see or hear. The hall felt like it was set on fire because of how hot I was getting, but the air around my felt freezing.

I ran. I ran until I ended up panting outside a liquor store. I tried to convince myself it was the caffeine. Shouldn't have had that last cup of coffee, must've made my heart rate too high. I bought a pack of cigarettes from the store- might as well, I was already there- and walked to Stark's Pond.

The bench wasn't empty. Kenny was already there.

I sat next to him and lit the first cigarette from my pack.

"I didn't know you smoked," he said with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

"I don't," I replied. "Want one?"

"Don't mind if I do," he said, pulling one from my pack.

"So the school looks the same."

"You went?"

I nodded, taking a drag of my cigarette. "I was kind of hoping it would look different. Feel different."

"Yeah, me too."

"No such luck."


	5. Classroom

_Kenny and I stood outside the school, as close to the wall as possible. It was pouring rain, which was unusual for this time of year. Most years, it would be snowing at this point, but we hadn't gotten snow so far. Just a week of rain. _

_"Fuck!" Kenny muttered, his voice muffled by the cigarette between his teeth as he desperately tried to light it. "I fucking hate rain. And fucking wind."_

_"Dude, chill," I replied with a chuckle. _

_Kenny looked up and glared at me before going right back to trying to light his cigarette. _

_"Ken, how you feeling there, dude?" I said, a little surprised. "Cigarette addiction that bad?"_

_"No," he replied, and then hesitated. "Well, yes, but that's beside the point."_

_"Alright then."_

_He looked at me uncertainly, cigarette still in his teeth. "I saw Cartman yesterday."_

_I raised my eyebrows. "Really." Cartman had been missing school pretty consistently for the past several months. He would disappear for days, no excuse, act weird when he was here. He started being absent more and more frequently. No one had seen him for a few weeks now. _

_"Yeah," Kenny replied, finally lighting his cigarettes. He took a few very long drags. It looked like he had finished practically half of it in less than two minutes. "I don't know, man, he was acting really weird. Not himself."_

_I laughed. "I wouldn't be too concerned about about that. It's Cartman. He always acts weird."_

_Kenny just shook his head. "You don't get it."_

_"Maybe not," I said with a shrug. I couldn't bring myself to be too interested. I looked around and frowned. "Dude, have you seen Kyle anywhere?"_

_"No, I haven't," he said, crushing his cigarette under his foot and rolling his eyes. "And I think you should take this serious."_

_"Wow, Kenny McCormick says we should take something seriously! Never thought I'd see the day!"_

_Kenny sighed and looked away from me. "Dude, come on."_

_"Ken, you know how Cartman is. He's fine, he always is."_

_Kenny paused and glanced at me. "Why do you think Cartman has been missing school?"_

_I shrugged. "Laziness, to get attention, some stupid plan to get rich. Who cares?"_

_He sighed. "Something just seems seriously wrong to me."_

_I was about to reply, but then the bell rang. "I guess Kyle's going to be late," I said. _

_We walked upstair to first period in silence. I imagined that Kenny was still thinking about Cartman, but I just wasn't all that interested in talking about him. I was busy checking my phone, wondering if Kyle was sick. He usually texts me the mornings he's late or missing school. _

_We got to the classroom and the rest of our class was standing out in the hallway. _

_"The door is locked," Tweek said when he saw us. He was leaning against the wall right next to the door, tapping his foot rapidly. Tweek had mostly gotten his stuttering and panicking under control, but he still always seemed like he was on edge. "Butters went to go find Mr. Mackey to get the key."_

_About five seconds later, Butters walked up. "Hey, fellas! Mr. Mackey said that teacher's gonna be late, so we can just go in and wait."_

_He smiled big and looked at me as he started open the door. "Where's Kyle?" he asked. _

_I shrugged. We started to file into the room, but then Tweek stopped, holding up the rest of the class. I was about to open my mouth and tell him to just walk in. And then he screamed, loud and full of terror. He immediately turned and ran back out, shoving through the crowd. He slammed against the lockers and puked right on the floor of the hall. Butters ran over to him, hyperventilating. _

_Desperate to see what had caused such a reaction, the rest of us piled into the room and stopped dead in our tracks. I stood frozen. Several people ran out immediately, in a rush and a panic. But I couldn't move. The air felt heavy, hot. I vaguely wondered if the rain had stopped, before I realized it was just that I couldn't hear anything. _

_Up at the front of the room, sitting in the teacher's chair and slumped across a desk, was Cartman. He was surrounded by red, staining his wrists, pooling on the desk and the floor. There were droplets of red all around the room, like he had walked around after dipping his hand in red paint, letting it drip on the ground. Only I was pretty sure it wasn't red paint. _

_Finally, I regained control of my legs and quickly walked out of the room. I stood against the lockers staring out at nothing, unable to get the image out of my mind. _

_I checked my phone again. Still nothing from Kyle. But I was relieved by that now. I didn't want to tell him. Didn't want to talk to him, even. Or anyone. _

_Tweek and Butters were both on the ground on the other side of the hallway, pressed against the wall. Tweek was breathing loud and fast, pulling at his hair and scratching at his arms, his eyes wide. Butters was right next to him, curled into himself, his face buried in his knees. His breathing was uneven. Maybe he was crying. I couldn't tell. _

_It seemed like the whole class was in the hallway now, some people on the floor, some people leaning against the lockers. It looked like a few people, including Wendy, had run to the bathrooms._

_The last person to leave the classroom was Kenny. I noticed because he quietly closed the door and took a deep breath. Compared to the crying and hyperventilating people in the hall, he seemed very calm and collected. _

_He stood in front of me, and I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I just stared at the floor. "I'm going to go find Mr. Mackey," he said, his voice quiet and level. "Are you okay?"_

_All I could do was nod. _

_"Could you make sure no one comes into the room?" he asked. _

_I nodded again, pressing myself harder against the lockers, willing myself to fade into them. _

_He turned and walked quickly down the hall, but he didn't run. How was he so calm? Did he not see the same thing I saw?_

_When Mr. Mackey came back with Kenny, he sent us all home. I was relieved, because I wanted to be far away from the school. But I was also scared, because I wanted some sort of distraction, something to do. I guess I wanted to silence my thoughts, get my mind off it. I wasn't sure if that was possible. _

_Kenny and I went back to my house. We sat in my room in silence for the rest of the day. I tried calling Kyle. He didn't pick up. _


	6. Snow

_We were told that we had the rest of that week off. Two days after, that Thursday, Kenny and I went to Stark's Pond. We both brought a book, maybe to feel like we were doing something. We'd been sitting on the grass for an hour and neither of us had turned a page or said a word. _

_The wind blew gently around us, carrying bits of mist and drizzle with it. I watched the small waves appear on the surface of the pond and the fallen leaves that drifted across it. On normal days, I could probably lose myself staring at the water, but there was only so much I could do to keep from reality at that point. The images from Tuesday kept creeping back into my mind, in every corner of it. _

_I wanted it to stop. It felt both like it had been a dream and like it was far too real. I had barely slept the night before, and I'd never felt so awake, so alert, so immersed in reality. I'd also never felt so much like escaping reality, so desperate to sleep and to dream, to take a break from the world. _

_From the corner of my eye, I could see Kenny tentatively look up at me. "Have you heard from Kyle yet?"_

_I shook my head. "I'm not sure if I want to. I don't know what he'll say."_

_Kenny nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean."_

_"We have to face him sometime, though."_

_"Yeah. I'll try and go over there later today," I said, though my voice didn't even sound convincing to me. I wanted to believe that I would go over there and see Kyle, but I knew I'd be much happier just curling up in bed and continuing to not speak to people. _

_My parents had tried to convince me that I needed to talk about it. That I needed to "get everything off my chest and open up." They might be right, but I don't want to talk about it. Certainly not less than a week after it had happened. I had barely washed my hands and hair of the suicide, let alone become ready to relive it. _

_It felt like everything was happening way too fast. The death was so sudden. I've had grandparents die, old family friends, pets. But every time, there were things leading up to it. Doctor's appointments, serious talks from parents, sicknesses and sadness for weeks or months. Dragging out the tragedy so long that it was almost a relief by the time it was over. This time, no one had prepared me, no one had warned me. There must have been signs. And now the funeral is on Sunday. _

_"I saw him two days ago," Kenny said quietly, staring at the water. "He was alive two days ago."_

_I looked at Kenny. We hadn't really said anything directly about him since Tuesday. We talked about Kyle, about missing school, about "it." But not directly about Cartman. Kenny, it seemed, still couldn't quite say his name. I don't think I could either. _

_My gaze shifted to the water again and I felt like my blood had turned to lead, I felt so heavy. My heart felt like it was going to drop into my stomach, and I spoke before I even realized the meaning of what I said. "I don't even remember the last time I saw him alive."_

_The silence between us was thick for a moment before a sob rose in my throat. I had promised myself that I wasn't going to cry, I wouldn't, couldn't cry. But the tears flowed and I crumpled up into myself, burying my face in my lap letting the tears seep through my jeans. _

_The last words I said about Cartman when I still thought he was alive were cruel. I don't remember my last words to him, his last words to me, when the last time I saw him was. He was supposed to be my friend. I was supposed to be _his _friend. _

_What kind of person am I? Is this how I treated people? What's wrong with me?_

_Kenny said nothing, did not offer me a hug or comforting words. I was grateful, because I did not feel like I had earned any kindness. _

_The drizzle had become a thin snowfall, snowflakes getting caught in my hair and melting on my arms. _

_By the time I had calmed down, there was a thin layer of snow all across the grass and Kenny and I left circles of untouched grass where we'd been sitting. _

_The next day, I finally got the courage to go to Kyle's house. Though when I got to the porch, I stood there for ten or fifteen minutes without hitting the doorbell. _

_It took so long for anyone to answer that I almost left. Right before I turned away, Mrs. Broflovski opened the door, her face coated in tears._

_"Oh, Stan, sweetheart," she said, sniffling. "What a nice surprise, I'm so happy to see you."_

_"Good to see you, too," I said, hesitant. She hated Cartman, why was she crying?_

_"Won't you come in? I'll make you some tea." She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands but new ones quickly replaced them. _

_She looked so pitiful I couldn't say no. I ended up sitting at the kitchen table as the made camomile tea within a minute. _

_"I'm so sorry to hear about your friend," she said, looking over her shoulder. Her words sounded forced, rehearsed. I wasn't sure if she was actually too broken up about it, or how much sympathy she really had. She had, after all, heard many of the complaints Kyle and I had said about Cartman. _

_My heart felt heavy again as I thought about how much we had complained. Maybe I felt grief, or maybe it was only regret and guilt. I could barely tell how self-serving my feelings were, or how much of it was genuine. _

_I remembered why I came here as Mrs. Broflovski set the tea down in front of me. "Um, is Kyle around?"_

_A sob escaped her lips. "I could also make lunch, if you're hungry. Do you feel like a grilled cheese sandwich? Or maybe some pasta, I know how much you like it."_

_She spoke so quickly I could barely hear the words. Her voice sounded so strained, so distant. So pleading. _

_I was confused. My mouth opened, but I couldn't think of what to say. _

_"Or maybe it's too early for lunch. How about some eggs? French toast with challah bread?"_

_Her voice was sounding more and more desperate, cracking at the end of sentences. _

_"Or maybe you're not hungry. I'm so sorry, it's just that-" she sniffed again. "You're a growing boy and I-" she let out a sob. "I just want to look out for you, you're like another-" her shoulders started to shake as she completely lost control. "another son to me."_

_She put her hands in her face and sobbed, loudly and without the dignity she usually had. _

_I froze, uncertain of what to do. I was never good at comfort, especially when I had no idea what it was that I was comforting. Then I snapped back and stood up. I threw my arms around her and hugged her tightly. She cried into my shoulder. I hadn't realized how much taller than her I had grown. It occurred to me, maybe because of the pain in my chest from seeing and hearing her cry, that in addition to her thinking of me as another son, I thought of her as a second mother. And I hated seeing her upset. I just wanted to see her stop crying. _

_"I don't know what I did wrong," she said into my shoulder, in a voice so quiet and broken that I wan't convinced it had come from her mouth. _

_"What are you talking about?" I said gently, pulling away to look at her. She looked so tired, so much older than she had a week ago._

_"He's gone," she whispered. _

_"Cartman?" I replied, his name barely making it past my mouth. _

_She shook her head. "Kyle."_

_All at once, my whole body felt cold and distant. "What?"_

_"He left. He told me that he's eighteen, an adult, that I can't tell him what to do. He took his car, his clothes, everything. He's not coming back. He left him phone so no one could contact him."_

_My feeling of emptiness was suddenly filled with fury. He didn't tell me anything, hasn't talked to me in days. "Why?" I said, too sharply. She flinched. _

_"I don't know," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to stop him, I tried, I- he seemed so unhinged, so not himself. I didn't know what to do."_

_I regretted my tone; she thought I blamed her. "It's not your fault," I said gently. _

_"I thought he'd come back, but… I'm not sure anymore."_

_I spent a while there at the house with Sheila, drinking tea and letting her cry to me, reassuring her that she was a good mother. Ike had holed himself up in his room, and Gerald was away. I comforted her as best I could, but I was so empty and broken, I was in no position to help anyone else. _

_I spent most of the rest of the week with Kenny, who was so calm and collected about Kyle's disappearance that it scared me. It felt so foreign to me, the ability to disconnect from the loss of two best friends at once. _

_We spent some time at the pond, some time with Mrs. Broflovski, some time with my venting my anger to Kenny. I knew I was only angry so that I could keep from being sad, but I didn't care. I needed that. _

_That Sunday, Kenny and I didn't go to the funeral. _

_That Monday, it was back to school._


	7. Dreams

Vivid nightmares haunted the few sleeping hours I got. I was walking through the school, just like last week when I broke in. The windows were all shattered, glass spraying across the hall. There were leaves, too, blowing through the hallway, though I felt no wind. I didn't remember climbing the stairs, or how I got to the school at all, but I was on the second story.

I got to the classroom where it happened, and I felt like I had to go in. The door was closed and when I reached for the doorknob, I found that it was also locked. As I stood outside, wondering how I was supposed to get in, I looked down the hall to see if anyone else was there. Shadowing figures were gather at the end of the hallway. I tried to call out to them, but no sound came from my mouth.

I turned back to the classroom to see that the door had disappeared. Carefully and slowly, I walked into it. It was empty and cold, leaves scattered across the floor. Fog seeped in through the window, making me shiver.

As I looked around, I saw that there was blood everywhere, just like that day. But instead of Cartman's body, limp on the desk with slit open wrists, it was Kyle's, hanging from a rope that seemed to be attached to nothing. I gagged and hyperventilated, desperate to leave. I couldn't figure out how to move my legs. Kyle's body had no face, just his thin, wiry body and mess of curly red hair to identify him. I found myself unable to remember what his face even looked like.

There were no cuts on him, no place he would had bled from. Confused, I wondered what the source of all the red was. Able to move again, I walked slowly, cautiously, toward the front of the classroom, trying to get through the fog that was getting thicker by the moment.

All at once, the fog was gone, and Cartman was standing at the front of the room, posed like a teacher, ruler and chalk in hand. It looked like he was about to start a lesson, but his eyes were glazed over, unmoving. He moved in a jagged, disconnected way toward me, as though he was puppet. Then he smiled, a wide, unnatural smile, and blood and spiders poured out of his toothless mouth, spilling and crawling across the floor.

I woke up in a cold sweat, relieved and depressed. Because I had woken up out of that world, but in this one, Kyle doesn't feel any less dead. Mrs. Broflovski gave up trying to find for him after a while. She had called all the relatives and family friends, anyone or anywhere she thought he may have gone to. There was no point anyway. No one could have forced him to come home. The law wasn't able to stop him, and he was so stubborn, no one could have talked him into it.

I like to think if he'd given me the chance, I could have convinced him to stay. I know that's not true though, in the back of my mind. He didn't even tell me why he left or that he was leaving at all, let alone care enough to stay because of something I said.

I got up slowly, my hands still shaking from the dream. I took a deep breath, willing the horrifying images to leave my mind. No such luck.

I'd gotten a phone call back yesterday from a company offering me an interview. My job would be just filing and answering phone calls, sort of an assistant or secretary like job. I couldn't remember the title they gave it, but it didn't really need a title. It was just busy work that the company higher-ups wouldn't want to do. I agreed to the interview, which will be in a few days. It seemed pretty likely that I'd get the job over the phone. They sounded like they just wanted to hire someone quickly, so they wouldn't have to put too much time and energy into filling such an unimportant position.

It's conceivable that I could start next week, which would mean I could look for apartments in that town soon. It's about an hour and forty-five minute drive from South Park, so it would make more sense to get an apartment over there.

I guess I should've felt relieved that I could turn away from this town in a matter of days. I could leave and never look back, never contact Kenny, my parents, Wendy, Butters, Tweek, not tell anyone where I was going… I could leave, really leave, really, truly escape. Never come back. Wasn't that what I wanted?

I closed my eyes. That's exactly what Kyle did.

I remember how I felt, when Kyle left.

Would Kenny feel that way if I left?

I never saw him cry about Cartman, never saw him blink images of blood from his mind. Never saw him cry about Kyle, leave a drunk message on Kyle's phone, knowing that he'd never receive it. I never saw him do any of the things I used to do so frequently.

But that doesn't mean he didn't.

Sometimes it's hard to remember that Kenny, with his easy smile and always so sincere laughter, is capable of being hurt.

Sometimes I forget that I could matter a lot to him, that he might even need me in the way I sometimes need him.

I made coffee slowly, drank it slowly, did everything that morning with a sense of sluggishness. It took me longer than it ever had before to shower and get dressed. I must've stood in the shower, letting the hot water hit my back for at least an hour. Everything felt heavy, my body, the air.

I drank three cups of coffee but still didn't feel awake. And I smoked six cigarettes but still didn't feel calm.

I went to Tweek's, both for a fourth cup of coffee and to check on him. I progressively felt less and less nervous or guilty about going into the store. It was interesting to see the gap between Tweek's good days and his bad days.

His bad days sometimes got to the point where he would be unable to work, hyperventilating and having practically hourly panic attacks. He'd had to leave the store mid shift a few times because it got so bad. I noticed it usually happened when there were more people from school around. One day, Butters and Craig were in there. Another day, it was Wendy. They didn't come in often, probably for the same reason I hadn't wanted to.

Today seemed like a good day, though. As I walked in, Tweek smiled and his hands were barely shaking. He looked like a healthy person having a mildly stressful day. I decided not to ruin it and left quickly.

I walked slowly to Kenny's house, chain smoking the whole way there. It was five by the time I reached the door.

Kenny looked at me with a raised eyebrow. The moment dragged on a while, neither of us saying anything, him just giving me that _look. _

"Well, what a surprise," he said, crossing his arms. "Stan Marsh, coming to my door. How did you even remember where I lived?"

"Come on, Ken. I'm trying," I said, my voice quiet.

Kenny broke out into a huge smile and his posture relaxed. "Dude, I'm just messing with you. What's going on?"

I gave a weak smile. "I just thought we could hang out"

"Might I suggest we head to the bar?"

"A great idea if I've ever heard one."

We immediately headed to the bar and ordered beer. I drank my first one as quickly as possible and ordered another.

I grinned nervously at Kenny. "I got a job interview."

His eyes and smile widened. "Dude! That's great! Finally, right?"

"Yeah, pretty much!" I told him about how it wasn't that exciting, just an office job, but it pays more than minimum wage.

"Where is it?" he asked.

I hesitated. "A little under two hours away."

His smile faltered for a split second. I almost didn't notice. He recovered quickly, the enthusiasm reentering his eyes. "Well! This calls for a more elaborate celebration!" He raised his hand and gestured to the bartender. "My good man! Bring us some shots! Of all the most exciting flavors!" he said theatrically.

It didn't take us long to get more intoxicated than we intended to be. We stayed at the bar until closing, then we stumbled out, all laughs and smiles. We headed straight toward Stark's Pond since neither of us were interested in going home yet.

"Think you'll come visit when you get days off your fancy job?" Kenny said as we lay in the grass.

"I don't have it yet, man," I replied.

"I know, I know. But you'll get it, I know you will. So like… will you try to visit? On days off?"

I hesitated, looking at the stars, feeling dizzy. "Yeah, totally, man. I'll try."

Kenny laughed, but it didn't sound as genuine as it usually did. "You liar."

There was a silence as the wind blew through the trees. I didn't know how to respond.

"You know, man," Kenny said, his words slurring. "I thought that after Cartman… And Kyle… that we'd get closer, you know? 'Cause no one else really got it, you know?"

I shrugged. "Well.. we did get closer, right?"

"Yeah." he paused. "I don't know. I guess so." He let out a loud sigh. "I think I knew, you know."

I looked over at him, but he kept staring at the water. "What do you mean?"

"It was my fault," he said with a shrug and a small smile, as though he was saying something far more casual.

It took me a moment to process his quiet words. "What?" I asked, a little shocked.

I thought I could see a tear gathering in Kenny's eye, but I wasn't sure. "I saw him the day before it happened. I think he tried to tell me."

I stared at him, eyes wide. I willed the alcohol to get out of my system. This would've been hard enough to talk about and think about if I'd had a clear head and my balance back, but this was near impossible. Sitting up without feeling dizzy was hard. But now I could barely tell if the spins and nausea were even due to the booze.

Kenny frowned and stared at his feet. "He did, you know… He, ah… He tried to tell me. He said… he was sick of being ignored, sick of being forgotten. He said that he was going to make sure everyone remembered," he said, and I swore I heard a crack in his voice. "It's my fault."

I felt tears rising up, into my eyes and my throat. "That doesn't make it your responsibility," I said, though my voice faltered.

Kenny looked at me, and his eyes had a glimmer of desperation. He seemed almost angry. "Doesn't it? It was preventable, Stan, so someone had to be responsible for preventing it. And I could have, I could have stopped it! I just didn't listen, didn't try hard enough!"

I shook my head. "Anyone could've prevented it. It's just that no one did."

He looked back at the water. "I guess so."


	8. Leaving

The closer it got to when I was supposed to leave, the less I wanted to. I had been spending more and more time that week with Kenny, half out of guilt, half out of loneliness. I had called a few places to rent, and got a phone interview with one. It was a studio apartment attached to a house where a four person family lived. The dad told me after the phone interview that I would probably get it, he just had to check with his wife.

It was really happening. I was really going to leave South Park, forever, finally. And I was having doubts about leaving.

I guess it was because I had finally faced what I'd been running away from for so long. I had gone back to the school, I had talked about it with Kenny, far more explicitly than we had before. It felt like I was taking huge steps backward, just moving out of town like this.

Then again, I had always been afraid of change, and maybe that was it. Maybe I was just making up reasons to stay. I'd spent so much time believing that once I left South Park, once I started my life, had a job, had my own place… Once all of that happened, I'd finally be happy. I'd finally be okay again. Maybe I was just afraid that I was wrong, just afraid that I'd still be just as unhappy as I am here.

I could barely imagine a life without constantly running away, constantly trying to escape. Maybe I was just scared that without all the running, my life would come to halt, and I wouldn't know what to do with myself.

But it felt too late to back out. I needed to try, at least. As much as I couldn't only ever run away, I couldn't just stay in South Park forever either. I needed to grow up.

There was a knock on the door, late that afternoon. Kenny was outside, grinning as always. The second I opened the door, he walked in, no invitation needed. "Hey, dude, how's it going?"

I shrugged. "Alright. I just keep thinking that I should maybe pack or something."

He sighed. "You really are leaving, huh? It feels kind of surreal."

I laughed. "Yeah, no kidding."

"There's no set time for you to come back this time, either. You're abandoning me forever," he sighed melodramatically and fell onto the couch.

I chuckled and he smiled, sitting up.

"So what are we going to do for your last few days here? Go rock climbing? Commit arson? Steal street signs?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, I have to pack up all the things that I own."

"Come on!" he whined. "You can't spend all the time you have left here doing boring things! I can't set things on fire by myself!"

"Well, either way, we're not committing arson, Ken. Probably wouldn't end well for you anyway."

"That is how my luck usually works," he replied. "Okay, nothing potentially fatal, then."

"You know what'd reasonably safe?" I said. "Helping me pack."

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine, I'll help you pack. But we have to do fun things, too."

"Of course," I replied.

In my room, Kenny decided that the best way to pack was to pull everything out of my drawers and closet and just throw it in a pile in the middle of my floor.

"It makes it so you don't have another choice," he said. "You can't put it off now."

"But now it'll be harder to sort through everything," I said, staring at him in confusion. He could be so incredibly weird sometimes.

He shrugged. "You asked for my help. You knew what you were getting yourself into."

I laughed a little, still kind of in shock from how quickly he managed to make my room such a mess. Then again, I've seen his room. There's a reason we usually hang out at my house. You can't even see the floor in his. I have no idea how he manages to sleep in there, or even get to his mattress in the first place.

He immediately started opening the drawers in my desk. "So this is how you keep your room neat!" he said. "Dude, do you use your desk as a trashcan?"

I crossed my arms. "At least I don't use my floor."

"I use my floor because it's harder to ignore that way," he said, as though that was perfectly reasonable.

"You still manage to ignore it, somehow."

He paused and grinned at me. "Well, it was a good plan," he said. "It just backfired when I realized how little I care."

"I can see how that would be a problem," I replied.

He shrugged. "Alright, here's the plan. I'll get through this mess," he said, pointing at the desk. "You deal with that one." He gestured to the pile of clothing on the floor.

We spent about an hour mostly in silence, playing some music loudly to make it seem more fun. I'd managed to fill one suitcase of clothes to bring and one plastic bag of clothes to throw away. It seemed like Kenny had gotten through the first drawer, maybe a little more. I looked over at him to ask, but I paused when I saw him.

He was holding something in his hand, staring at it, frozen. His smile was gone and all the color was drained from his face.

I frowned in worry. "Dude, you alright there?"

He snapped out of it so quickly that I wasn't sure I'd read his expression right. He quickly put down whatever he had been looking at and the grin reappeared on his face as though it had never left. "Dude, we've been doing this a while, want a break? It's almost happy hour at the bar!"

I was about to say that we really hadn't been here that long, but he had this sort of look of desperation in his eyes that made me think better of it. "Sure, man, let's go."

At that, Kenny practically ran out of the room, dragging me with him.

When we got to the bar, he immediately ordered four shots. He said we should each have two, because one is never enough. I decided it best to not disagree with him.

We stayed there for a while, hanging out, talking. He seemed to have calmed down, though I wasn't sure what had set him off in the first place. I didn't ask; I was afraid of ruining this.

Kenny took a sip of his beer and looked at me. "I've figured it out."

I laughed. "That sounds ominous."

He shook his head. "Okay, so you vetoed arson, yes?"

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What about theft, though?" he said, and his eyes were so bright and his smile so excited I couldn't possibly disagree.

I sighed dramatically. "What did you have in mind?"

"You'll see!" he said, pulling me out of the bar.

We ended up at Stark's Pond and there was a long silence as we stood there.

"So was this on accident? Or did we actually come here on purpose for once?" I asked.

"Shut up, Stan," he said, lightly punching me in the arm. "I know what I'm doing, alright?"

"Sure, okay," I replied with a chuckle.

"We're taking the Stark's Pond sign," he said emphatically. He paused. "Well, you are."

I looked at him. "Why? Also, how?"

"Well, I get the actual pond to comfort me. So you can have the sign," he said. "And I didn't really plan out how."

We walked over to look at it. It was a wooden sign, with rusted nails holding it in place.

"We might need a hammer," I said. "Or a screwdriver or something."

He shook his head. "No. That's what the sign wants."

He then spent about twenty minutes trying to pull the nails out with a rock.

"Dude, it's not going to work, let's just go get my dad's toolbox," I said.

"But then the sign would win!" he said. Less that thirty seconds later, he managed to pull the sign off the post. "I told you I could do it! Now when you get upset, instead of running to Stark's Pond, you will have this sign."

"It's not quite the same thing."

He grinned. "No, not really, which is why you should still come visit the real thing every once in a while."

We stayed at the pond a little bit longer, but Kenny pointed out that he spent quite a while wrestling with the sign and was tired, so we both went home. I put the sign in my suitcase, and I was getting ready to go to sleep, I noticed the picture that Kenny had been staring at.

It was from sophomore year, and it was a picture of the four of us. Me, Kenny, Kyle and Cartman.

I didn't sleep well that night.

For the next few days, I spent the whole time cleaning, packing, or hanging out with Kenny. I'd gotten a phone call confirming that I'd gotten the studio apartment. Two days before I was supposed to leave and move, I made a plan to do the one last thing in South Park I really needed to do. Kenny offered to come with me, but I figured I should do it on my own.

I had never visited Cartman's grave. Kenny has gone every year, on Cartman's birthday. He invited me the first few times, but stopped when he realized I wasn't going to come.

So that day, I drove to the cemetery. But as I was walking through it, toward where Kenny had told me to go, I froze.

There he was, standing at Cartman's grave, tall and lanky, with a mess of red curls.

Kyle.


	9. Kyle

I stood frozen, unable to process what was happening. My heart beat quickly, I started breathing fast and heard. Was I dreaming? Was he going to turn around, faceless and bloody, blurry and jagged, like in so many nightmares since he disappeared? Would I wake up in a cold sweat, with the ghosts of the images haunting me?

But no, this was real. I was awake. I was sure of it. This wasn't a dream. I found myself wishing that it was.

Questions raced through my mind. What was he doing here? Does Kenny know he's back? Where had he been? Why had he left? Why did he come back?

Why did he leave? Why did he abandon me, why did he abandon all of us? Sheila and Ike _needed _him. _I _needed him. He didn't even tell me why. He didn't even tell me that he was going. My best friend in the whole world, who knew everything about me, and he just fucking left. He didn't even care enough to warn me. And right when Cartman died, how could he?

And _why _did he have to come back? We were all better now. We'd had enough time. We had recovered, we had moved on. Sheila had moved on; she was smiling again. Ike was doing better. Kenny was doing better. Hell, _I _was even okay now. Why the hell did he come back? To rub it in? To make sure we would never really recover? What was his plan? To come back, let everyone know he was still alive, and then leave without a trace again? He could've _died_ out there, and none of us ever would have known. He left us all wondering. I thought he had died. I was sure that if he had still been alive, he wouldn't be gone for so long with no contact. I thought that if he was still alive he would've called, sent a letter, a text, a fucking smoke signal, something. Who the hell did he think he was, sauntering back to town as though he hadn't done anything wrong?

Anger quickly replaced the panic and the hurt. He left with no explanation. Didn't even tell me why or where he was going. And now he was back, with no warning. If I hadn't come to the graveyard today, would I even have known that he'd come back? How long was he planning to stay anyway? Not long, no doubt. Maybe he'd done this before, in and out of town before anyone even saw him.

I wanted to confront him, to walk right up to him and tell him to get the hell out of town. Tell him that no one wanted him here. But I still couldn't move.

My hands were shaking so hard. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't just my hands. The rest of my body was shaking, with panic or anger, I could barely tell.

Kyle still stood by the grave, staring at it, his hands in his pockets. He seemed lost in thought, reading and reading the headstone. I was over here, shaking and hyperventilating, and there he was, as still as a statue. As cool and collected as always, while I'm the one having a fucking meltdown.

What gave him the right to stand by Cartman's grave, as though he was his friend? What gave him the right to visit, to mourn, if that was even what he was doing? Did he even know Cartman had died, or had he just abandoned Cartman like he had the rest of us? How dare he act like he cared that Cartman was dead. He'd never visited the grave before, didn't even go to the funeral.

But then again, neither had I.

I pushed the thought as far away as I could. No, this wasn't about me. Of course I cared that Cartman had died, of course I was his friend. I _mourned_, his death affected me so much. I never abandoned him.

_But didn't you, when he was alive? Never called him, texted him, asked how he was doing. Kenny saw him the day before he died, but when was the last time you had seen him? And whose fault was that?_

I pushed that thought away, too. At least I never abandoned Kenny, right? Or my parents?

_You tried your hardest to never visit. _

But I always came back! I _always _came back, and they _always _knew where I was! And I would never have abandoned Kyle like he did to me!

_How can you be sure?_

I was about to turn and run away, about to go back to my car and not look back, about to escape. I could've, I really could've. I was about to leave South Park anyway. I could have turned away, left the town, never looked back, forgotten all about this, dismissed it as a hallucination or a very realistic dream. It would've been so easy, and I would have done it, too.

But then he turned around.

His face was more or less the same, just older. I had almost expected him to be different, as drastically different as I felt he had to be to do what he did. But, no, he was just the same. The same freckles, though faded. The same green eyes, just less bright, less innocent. His curly hair fell across his forehead messily. It was almost insulting and infuriating that his guilt and his mistakes were not plastered across his face. He locked eye contact with me and I couldn't move again.

He walked over to me hesitantly, slowly, his eyes cautious. He stopped in front of me, examining my face. I guess I didn't give much away in my expression, because he looked confused.

"Hey," he said, his voice quiet and heavy.

I can't explain what I did next.

I punched him in the face.


	10. Knuckles

I pulled my fist back and grabbed it with my other hand. My knuckles stung, but I guess this is how it always is. If you hurt someone, you hurt yourself, too. They taught us something like that in physics class. That every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

Right after I hit him, he grabbed his nose. It had started bleeding. I could see the red trickling through his fingers. He let out a small chuckle. "I guess I deserve that," he said quietly.

I didn't know what to do. I spun around and started walking back to my car. I had completely forgotten about visiting Cartman's grave. It was so far from my mind. It was embarrassing how quickly Cartman's memory was no longer in my thoughts.

"Wait," he called after me. "Stan, stop. Come on. I need to talk to you."

"Well, I don't have anything to say to you!" I yelled back, more and more furious by the moment. I heard his footsteps coming after me. I walked faster. I wasn't interested in anything he had to say. Not now, not ever. I had spent so long believing that he was dead that he may as well be. I didn't want to hear his excuses.

"Stan, come back, let me explain," he said, his voice sounding more desperate and broken than I'd ever heard it before. It hurt me to hear him like that. It hurt so much that I almost turned around.

But I didn't. I got in my car and I drove away. I drove straight to Kenny's house and banged hard on the door. I kept knocking until he opened the door.

"Dude, what the fuck is your problem?" he said, rubbing his eyes and glaring at me.

"Let's go somewhere!" I replied, trying to force excitement and happiness into my voice. I just ended up sounded manic and pleading.

He frowned, clearly confused. "Okay, where?"

I smiled, relieved. Kenny was the only person I knew who would do this. Who would drop everything and not question it when he saw that someone needed him. That part of him never ceased to amaze me. The way he could sense when someone needed him, and he would just do it, without a second thought. I'd never met anyone as selfless as him, or anyone so unaware of their selflessness, because to them, it comes automatically.

"Anywhere," I said. "Where do you want to go?"

He laughed. "California."

"Okay, let's go there!" I said, grabbing his wrist.

"Dude, we're not going to California," he replied, rolling his eyes. "We have lives. You're moving in two days. You have a job."

"Fuck the job. I have to get out of here." I started pulling him to the car and he pulled his wrist away.

"Dude," he said, grabbing my shoulders. "What's up?"

I opened my mouth but I couldn't bring myself to answer. I just stared at him.

He dropped his arms to his side and sighed. "Do you want to go to Stark's Pond?"

"No!" I replied, too quickly, too urgently. He looked taken aback. Out of habit, I pinched the bridge of my nose, but then I instantly regretted it.

"What happened to your _hand_?" Kenny asked, staring at my knuckles. He reached his hand out to touch them.

I pulled my hand back quickly, automatically. "Nothing. I punched someone. It's not important."

"Seriously, what's going on?" he asked, lowering his voice. I could hear the concern in his voice and I could see it stamped across his face.

I looked at the ground. I couldn't look him in the eye right now. "He's back," I said quietly.

"What? Who? Cartman?" he replied.

I couldn't help but wince a little. He sounded cautiously hopeful, like maybe Cartman could come back to life. It made me think that maybe that was how he was always so okay, so calm. Maybe he always had that sliver of hope, because he'd always had a shaky grip on reality, an overactive imagination. Maybe he really believed, somewhere within him, that coming back to life was possible. "No," I answered. "Kyle."

I watched as Kenny stiffened, his shoulders tensing. His face showed no emotion. "Oh," he replied, his voice cold and empty.

"I saw him at Cartman's grave," I said, mostly mumbling.

Kenny started laughing, an open, happy laugh, as though he was not full of ice a moment ago. "And your first response was to punch him?"

I chuckled. "I guess so."

Kenny laughed harder, leaning against the fence. When he caught his breath again, he smiled, an animated, Kenny smile. "So where did you want to go?"

I stared at him. How was he so unfazed? Kyle coming back shook me, made me want to abandon South Park even more. How was Kenny okay?

He must've seen my blank, confused look, because he sighed. "Look, Stan. Life didn't end just because Kyle left. So life doesn't end just because he comes back. The guy doesn't get to dictate how everyone feels. So, I ask again, where do you want to go?"

"Aren't you at least curious why he left? Or why he's back? Are you at least mad or something? Come on, you can't feel nothing," I said, suddenly a little pissed that I was the only one in a panic right now. First Kyle was all cool and collected, now Kenny, too? Why was I the only one here freaking out?

Kenny shrugged. "He left. That's all I need to know. I'm not in the habit of caring about people who don't care about me."

I studied his expression, which was remarkably neutral. I knew he was lying. He'd been in that exact habit his whole life. He spent years caring about his parents, who were barely ever sober enough to notice him. He spent years caring about his brother, who routinely took out his anger on Kenny. He has spent his whole life caring about everyone, putting everyone else before himself. I decided not to comment on this particular lie.

"Do you remember that one day, when the four of us went to the amusement park? We were about twelve, I think," Kenny said, his voice distant.

"Yeah, Kyle and I rode that roller coaster that went upside-down. That was a fun day," I replied.

Kenny shook his head. "No. That's just how you remember it. About half an hour after we got there, Cartman went off to sulk, and then not long after, Kyle disappeared. You were so stressed out, you kept saying we should go looking for him. I calmed you down for a while, and we went on a few rides and had lunch. Then we went all over the park, looking for Kyle, and you were close to tears. We found him a couple hours later, reading under a tree. He was confused, convinced it hadn't been that long. Then, right after that, you guys went on that roller coaster while I babysat Cartman."

I couldn't answer. I barely remembered any of that, only vague, blurry images.

"What's your point?" I asked.

He shook his head again. "No point, I guess. Not really, anyway." He let out a sigh and smiled. "So did you still want to go somewhere?"

"No, I think I just needed to calm down," I replied. "I'll probably just head home, make sure all my things are in order."

"Okay. Well, do you want to grab dinner at the pizza place tonight? Then maybe go to the bars?"

"Sure," I said. "I'll meet you there."

I turned away and headed back home.


	11. Sorry

My room was depressing to sit in. The walls were bare, everything was packed up, everything was clean. It looked like I'd never lived here to begin with. I walked around the room slowly, looking for any permanent thing to show that I had existed here. There was a coffee-stain on the rug by the desk, thanks to an all-nighter Kyle and I pulled in high school. He had been dozing off and he pushed it off the desk.

I was pretty lost in thought, staring at the damn coffee stain and sorting through all my discarded memories. I thought a heard a knock on the door, but it was so quiet, I wasn't sure. I waited a few moments and it happened again. I walked downstairs and stood in front of the door with my hand on the handle for a few moments before opening it.

It was Kyle. He stood on the porch, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His nose didn't look bad anymore, though it seemed like it was starting to bruise. I was never good at hitting, so I guess he lucked out there.

He ran his fingers through his red hair and looked up at me. "Hey, Stan."

I clenched my hand around the doorknob. "What are you doing here?" I said, my voice cold.

He crossed and uncrossed his fingers. I remembered seeing him do that during tests or when his mother yelled at him. It was a nervous habit he'd had since we were kids, unique to him as far as I knew. I'd never seen anyone else do it. And right now, for some reason, it rubbed me the wrong way. It felt like hearing nails on a chalkboard to me, seeing him with the same old habits.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I just- I was going to come talk to you, and then running into you like that, I-" He trailed off and stared at his shoes. "I just wanted to explain myself."

"And?" I said, my voice dripping with bitterness. "What excuses have you come up with?"

Kyle shook his head. "No excuses. I'm sorry, Stan. I shouldn't have bailed."

"Is that really all you have to say? That you shouldn't have _bailed_?" I glared at him. I felt tears stinging the corners of my eyes and I bit my lip to pouch them away. "It's been four fucking years! I had no idea where you were! You didn't even bother to fucking tell me you were leaving!"

He rubbed the back of his neck, and closed his eyes. "I know," he said quietly. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah? You're sorry?" I said, trying not to yell. "Well, you can take your _sorry _and shove it up your ass."

"I don't know what you want me to say," Kyle replied. He had an edge in his voice, like his patience was thinning. I knew Kyle hated apologizing, hated admitting he'd done something wrong. I could see how hard this was for him. And I hated that I cared. I hated that seeing him like this made me want to forgive him.

"Now? Nothing," I replied. "But four years ago? 'Oh, by the way, Stanley, I'm a piece of shit and I've decided to leave South Park suddenly and never speak to you guys ever again.'" I imitated his voice, making it as annoying and whiny as possible.

He took and deep breath. It almost looked like he was counting. He was trying so hard to stay calm. It was almost impressive, watching him control his temper. I remember all the times he snapped at the smallest comment. On a bad day, Cartman could make him yell and storm off in less than five sentences. He'd almost made a game out of it.

"It wasn't like I planned it," he said, his voice even. "It was an impulsive decision. I made a mistake."

"And then you kept making that same mistake every fucking day for four fucking years. Real nice, dude." My face felt hot. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep myself as collected as possible. I didn't want to lose it while he was keeping himself together.

"I'm sorry, man. I don't know what else to say." Kyle ran his fingers through his hair and his voice cracked a little.

"So then fuck off," I snapped. "Why the fuck did you even bother coming back?"

"I-" he started, but I didn't let him finish.

"I needed you, dude. And you just fucking left," I stepped out onto the porch and pushed him backwards. "Do you have any idea what it's like, to have your friend _kill himself, _and then your best friend is just _fucking gone_? Kenny and I thought you were dead! I needed you! And where the _fuck _were you?"

Kyle looked up at me, his eyes no longer shiny. His face had gotten red and his expression had gotten hard. "What, you gonna hit me again? Will that make you feel better?" He shoved me back. "Why do you think I left?"

"Like I give a shit!" I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. I hated my habit of crying when I was mad. It made fighting with people hard. I got in argument and I would just start tearing up. It was humiliating.

"What do you want from me?" he replied. He sounded like he wanted to scream.

"I want you to take it back!" I shouted. I felt tears spill over my eyelashes, unable to control them. "I want you to never have left!"

"Well, I can't do that!" he yelled back. He looked so desperate, so hopeless.

We stood there in silence for a few moments. I didn't know what else to say. My anger was dwindling. I felt more tired than anything else. It was draining to fight with him. Even after all this time, it took so much out of me to be mad at him in person. It was easy when he was far away, out of sight. I could be mad at an idea, at an image, or a memory. It's so much harder to stand in front of him and still hold on to that anger. I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep it up.

He sighed and stared at the ground. "Look, I know I fucked up. I'm sorry. I really, really am. I was just hoping you could forgive me, I guess. But you clearly don't want to see me, so I'll just go. I don't want to waste your time."

My heart pounded and I was suddenly terrified of losing him again. I didn't want it to be my fault if I never saw him again. He started to walk away but I grabbed his shoulder. "Wait, dude. I'm, ah. I'm glad you're not dead."

He gave a weak smile. "Yeah, me too."

"I really missed you, you know," I said softly, bringing my arm back to my side.

"Yeah, I missed you, too," he replied. His shoulders visibly relaxed. I hadn't realized he had been so tense. "I'm really sorry."

I tried to smile, but it didn't seem to work. "Yeah, I know. Do you want to come inside? Have a glass of water or something?"

He nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'd like that."


	12. Habits

A/N- I'm having some writer's block issues, but I'm trying. Let me know what you think, it motivates me to continue.

* * *

It got uncomfortable as we stood inside. Kyle looked around my house, seemingly trying to memorize every inch. He had so many different emotions going across his face, I couldn't keep track. He let out a short, awkward laugh. "It, uh. It looks the same," he said, his voice sad.

"Yeah, no one's big on change in this family," I replied. It got quiet again, and I wondered if that was the wrong thing to say. "Come on, there's beer in the kitchen."

He followed me into the kitchen carefully, as though a creak in the floorboard might shatter the windows. It seemed like he was walking into the house of a casual acquaintance. Like a place where you've never been, and you have no idea if you're supposed to take your shoes off or not. Maybe that's what this felt like to him. Maybe his house would feel like that to me, too.

When we got to the kitchen, though, he sat down in the same stool by the counter he always used to sit. For the most part throughout our friendship, we'd had habits and patterns that we'd always follow. This was one of them. Whenever we were in the kitchen at my house, he's sit right there. It felt strange, because it kind of felt normal.

I pulled two beers out of the fridge, and I noticed my hands were shaking. I decided to ignore it and just opened the beers and handed one to Kyle. Then I took two really long gulps of mine, hoping it might calm me down. He seemed to have the same idea.

He examined the beer in his hand. "Do you remember the first time we got drunk?" he asked, a small smile on his face.

I let out a small chuckle. "When we were going to spike the punch at the school dance in ninth grade?"

He nodded. "But then we drank everything in the flask before we could without realizing it."

"That was a fun night," I said, smiling.

He laughed. "You puked all night."

I shrugged. "Still fun."

"Yeah, you didn't have to carry your drunk ass home," he replied, smirking.

I raised my eyebrows. "Dude, you were way drunker than me."

"Whatever you want to believe," he said.

I smiled and laughed a little too openly before I caught myself. This felt too normal. I closed my eyes and let the pause drag on too long. I couldn't just act like nothing happened. "Where have you been, man?" I said quietly.

He looked at the ground and shrugged, then he began crossing and uncrossing his fingers again. "I went all the way to California. I had a bunch of money saved up, started renting a place, working at a book store. I got my GED. I ended up getting a scholarship to UC Berkeley, graduated in three years. My life hasn't been all that interesting."

I stared at him. I don't know what I expected. My fingers and face started to feel hot, and I started getting really mad. I figured that if he was alive, he was living this beautiful, amazing life. I thought he might be traveling, backpacking, something. Maybe train hopping, living out of his car. All the things I daydreamed about when I wanted to run away.

I was pissed that he'd been living an ordinary life. I thought that if he'd been living an incredible life, that kind of excused never speaking to me. But he wasn't distracted by traveling and meeting people all over the country. No, he was doing the exact fucking thing I'd been doing for the past four years. He was just going to school and working, like everyone else. Fucking asshole.

"Why'd you run away then?" I asked, maybe a little sharply.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't run away-" he started.

"You left suddenly and didn't tell anyone where you were going. What would _you _call that?"

I could tell Kyle didn't want to talk about this. He wanted to just pretend nothing had happened, act like he'd done nothing wrong. But fuck that.

"I found him," he said, and I was so surprised and confused by the answer that I didn't reply for a few moments.

"What?" I asked.

"Eric. That night," he said. "I found him."

There was a pause and I said nothing, hoping he'd continue.

"I got a text from him, telling me to meet him at the school. By the time I got there, he was dead, and I just found him with his wrists slashed open. It was horrible."

My patience and understanding for him plummeted. "The entire class found him later," I replied, my tone angry. "The entire class saw him like that. But no one else ran away and left town."

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "It was an impulse decision, okay? I just left. I didn't think it through."

"That's an understatement." I could hear how bitter and whiny I sounded. Fuck, I sounded so pathetic.

Kyle looked at me, his expression getting more and more hopeless. "Come on, Stan. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. This was exhausting. "Do you know how fucking hard it is to stay mad at you?"

He smiled, and it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'd say I'm sorry about that, but I'm really not."

I laughed a little. "Yeah, you wouldn't be, would you? Douchebag."

He shrugged, and his smile grew. "Maybe."

"Oh, no, not maybe. You are _definitely _a douchebag," I replied, trying to sound angry and failing. There was laughter in my voice that was obvious.

"Well, that's just not very nice at all," he said back, feigning annoyance in his voice. He grinned like an idiot.

I punched him in the arm. I intended to do it a little harder, but it hadn't worked.

He looked at me with this smile that was so genuinely happy, it would've cheered anyone up. What an asshole. "I really missed you, dude," he said. And then any shred of anger I'd been holding onto fell apart.

"I missed you, too."


	13. Doubts

A/N- So this is the longest chapter I've written so far. I hope you guys like it, let me know what you think.

* * *

We hung out for a while at my house, catching up and acting like we always do. It almost felt like Kyle had never left, which was pretty much exactly what I wanted. It felt like all that time he'd been gone was some sort of bad dream, and it was fading away fast.

Kyle told me about this crazy professor he'd had at UC Berkeley; I told him about my summer abroad in France.

We ended up going up to my room, and Kyle froze in the doorway, staring at the emptiness of it.

"Dude, where's all your stuff?" he asked cautiously.

I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly feeling kind of guilty for leaving. I knew that was stupid, because Kyle wasn't even back when I'd gotten the job or the new apartment. I suddenly felt like I'd been hiding something, like I should have told him sooner or something. "Packed up," I said, feeling so uncomfortable standing here. I just wanted to leave my room at this point. "I'm supposed to leave in two days."

"Where are you going?" he said quietly, his voice full of hurt and disappointed. He stared at me with sad eyes, and I couldn't handle it.

"Well, I got this job an hour and forty five minutes away," I replied, almost mumbling. "I was going to move to that town."

He didn't reply, just looked like a kicked puppy.

"I might not, though," I blurted out quickly. "I mean, I was having doubts about it anyway, so-"

Just then, my phone started to ring and I almost jumped.

"Crap," I muttered as I saw the time. "Hey, Ken," I said, answering the phone. I noticed Kyle visibly get tense. I guess he'd hoped the worst was over.

"Hey, dude, where are you?" Kenny's voice said through the phone.

"Yeah, sorry, man, I totally lost track of time. I'll leave now," I replied, and Kyle looked so disappointed.

"You're such a flake," Kenny said with a laugh. "See you soon."

"Wait," I said quickly. "Um, can I bring Kyle?"

There was a pause. It was probably less than five seconds, but it felt like it lasted forever at that moment. "Kyle?" he replied, sounding confused. "He's with you?"

"Yeah, can he come?" I said, trying to sound casual for Kyle's benefit. Maybe he didn't realize the weight of the situation, the significance of what I was asking.

"Just don't expect me to be nice," Kenny said, and then he hung up.

I was a little shaken, since I rarely hear Kenny act like that. He sounded so cold, so unlike himself. I decided to not worry about it until we got there. "Yeah, he said you could come."

Kyle smiled, and it didn't reach his eyes. He looked nervous, a little scared. I tried to put on my best comforting smile and I patted him on the shoulder. "Nothing to be worried about," I said softly. "You know Ken. He's always forgiving."

When we got to the restaurant, it seemed like Kenny was already two beers in. He look pissed off until he saw us. He immediately put on an enthusiastic smile. "Hey, guys!" he said, overly friendly. He told me not to expect him to be nice, but I guess he decided to be anyway. "Come on, sit, I just ordered a cheese pizza."

Kyle smiled nervously and sat down. All his actions were careful, deliberate. It looked like he was trying hard not to break something. "Hey, Ken," he said, his tone quiet and friendly.

Kenny grinned and patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, Ky."

Kyle brightened a little at that, probably encouraged by the use of his nickname. I guess it must've made him feel like Kenny had forgiven him. I wasn't sure, but I didn't think it mattered. Kenny wasn't going to be mean. He didn't have it in him.

I sat down, too, and ordered myself a beer. The conversation progressed slowly. At first it was quiet and polite, a little too much so. It seemed very much like impersonal small talk. As we drank the beer and ate the pizza, the conversation started to get louder, more like it used to be.

At some points, we were laughing so openly it seemed like we really were sophomores in high school. Though if we were, then there would've been a four person sitting at that table.

Later on in the night, Kenny turned to me, smiling big. "So tomorrow is your last night, right? What are we going to do for it?"

Kyle's grin fell quickly and he looked at me. "I thought you weren't sure if you were leaving?" He said it like a question, lifting his voice at the end. He looked confused, too. When I turned to Kenny, he raised an eyebrow at me and his smile no longer looked genuine.

I just shrugged. "I'm having doubts," I replied, though my voice sounded unsure. I added confidence to my tone and added, "I'm thinking it over."

Kenny smiled again, but his eyes didn't have the laughter or shine they usually did. He looked almost angry. "Of course you are," he said, his tone sarcastic and harsh. He immediately stood up, almost knocking over his chair. Then he walked straight out the door.

Kyle looked at me, his brow furrowed. "What's with him?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn't have one. I shrugged instead. "I'm going to go talk to him. You just wait here."

As I walked out the door, I saw Kenny smoking a cigarette. He seemed to be inhaling more nicotine than oxygen with the speed he was going. "Dude, you okay?"

He smiled wide. "Yeah, of course!" he answered, his voice a little over-the-top enthusiastic.

"Come on, man," I said, a little exasperated. I hated how he could never just be upfront. He had to try to pass it off like nothing was going on. It was always hard to figure out what was happening with him, because he refused to talk about it.

His smile fell and he threw his cigarette on the ground. He lit a new one before he'd even put the other on out with his shoe. "Are you seriously thinking about staying? For that guy?"

I didn't know how to answer. "I mean, not only because of Kyle. I'm just not sure it's a great plan. What if I hate that town?"

Kenny shot me a glare. "Yesterday, you were leaving. Today, you're having doubts. Only one thing has changed."

I looked at him. "So what if I postpone moving away for Kyle? He only just came back into my life, why would I walk out now?"

Kenny laughed a little. "So you're doing this so that you don't upset _him? _The guy who just waltzes in and out of lives like it doesn't mean anything? And then _barely _apologizes to you, and doesn't even bother apologizing to me?"

"What, do you want him to apologize to you?" I asked, a little desperately. "I can give you guys some time to talk if you want."

Kenny ran his fingers through his messy hair, looking so frustrated. It felt like if I touched him, I would prick my fingers on thorns. "No, that's not it, I don't give a shit about that," he replied, his voice fast and his eyes flitting around. He took another quick and deep drag from his cigarette. "People never worry about hurting me, you really think that's the problem?"

"Then what _is_ the problem?" I asked, raising my voice a little.

Kenny turned sharply to look at me. "It's what he did to you!" he answered, throwing his arms down, his volume matching mine.

"But I've forgiven him!" I replied. I didn't understand. My thoughts were moving at a hundred miles an hour, trying to decipher this. I just didn't get it. "It's not your job to be mad for me!"

"You _always _forgive him!" Kenny blurted out, yelling this time. He pointed at me, as though he was accusing me of something. I guess he was. "You're always just so happy to forgive and forget!"

"So that's your issue here?" I shouted. "That I'm forgiving?"

"Yeah!" he shouted back, glaring at me. "He fucks up, I have to clean up his mess, and you forgive him the second he shows up again! It's always the same fucking story with you two!"

"That's none of your business!" I replied, so angry I started shaking. I hated it when people treated me like this, like they had some sort of say in what I do.

"Of course it is! I care about you!" Kenny yelled, looking ready to hit someone. There was a pause as he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and calmed down a bit. When he looked at me again, his eyes were intense, insistent. "I don't trust him, Stan. He's reckless and he's selfish and he always has been."

I thought about what he'd said earlier that had confused me so much. _I'm not in the habit of caring about people who don't care about me. _Maybe he hadn't really meant that exactly. Maybe he'd meant he's not in the habit of caring about people who don't care about _you. _Because he was right, people never worried about hurting him, so he had to not care about that. But he seemed extremely protective of me.

"Kyle's my best friend," I replied. "Can't you just be happy he's back?"

Kenny's eyes filled with anger. I'd never seen him look so mad. "Really? He's your best friend? Then why'd he leave?"

"I-" I started, but I had no idea what I was going to say. Kenny interrupted me anyway.

"Where was he? Was he there, listening to you vent about how abandoned you feel? Did he pick up the phone at three in the morning when you were drunk and crying? Did he make sure to _always _be there when you needed him?"

I felt a little guilty, hearing all the times Kenny had come through for me and realizing how little I had appreciated it. "I never asked you to do any of that," I said quietly.

"No, of course you didn't, because you didn't fucking have to!" Kenny replied, raising his voice again. It seemed like he'd only managed to calm himself down for a short amount of time. "But I did it anyway, because that's what you're _supposed _to fucking do for people you care about!"

"Kenny, I-" I said, but he stopped me.

"Just go have fun with your _best friend,_" Kenny spat at me. Then he sighed, and the anger faded. He just looked kind of sad, like he was giving up. "I'll be there when he fucks up again. I always am."

I watched him walk away in the dark, head slumped down. I didn't know what to do.


	14. Stuck

A/N- I'm so sorry about how long this has taken! I swear, I'll try harder for the next chapter. Anyway, let me know what you think!

* * *

It had been a week, and I still hadn't spoken to Kenny. He didn't even know I was still around. Or at least, I hadn't told him. I turned down the job, turned down the housing opportunity. By then, someone else had that life and I was still in South Park. Kenny hadn't tried to speak to me either though, which is my only comfort. I knew in the back of my mind that it needed to be me who spoke to him first, but I couldn't do it. Kenny is the make-amends-apologize-no-matter-what guy, not me. I'm the run-away-from-responsibilities-and-pretend-nothing-is-wrong guy. He was always the better person so that I didn't have to be. I guess I didn't realize quite how often he had to do that.

Kyle was sitting on the floor of my still mostly packed up room. I've had to take clothing out of suitcases to wear since it's been an extra week of being here. My room looked approximately like how I felt: neither here nor there. Waiting for something to happen, for a decision to be made. My parents were thrilled that I was staying longer, though they, like me, don't know how long it'll last. You can only cling to the past for so long.

I did have a future for a second there. I had the opportunity to be self-sufficient, to have my own place. It was all clear for a minute there, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I saw the ability to be free from South Park.

I tried telling myself it wasn't because of Kyle. I tried telling myself that I was using him as an excuse, that I was already scared and he gave me an out. I tried telling myself that Kenny was wrong about me. But so far, I hadn't seen Kenny be wrong about anything important.

"I got a job," Kyle said suddenly.

I jumped a little, shaken from my thoughts. "What?" I replied.

"A job," he repeated. "I got a job."

"Oh, cool," I replied, absent-mindedly. "Where?"

"That restaurant downtown," he said, and I noticed his voice was shaky. "You know, the one Kenny works at."

I stared at him for a moment and then exhaled a little. "That's brave," I said. We hadn't mentioned Kenny since last week. I didn't even tell him what had happened when I walked back into the restaurant. I didn't even make anything up, I just acted like Kenny had never been there in the first place. I didn't want Kyle to know the things Kenny had said about him. He didn't need to hear it, you know?

"That's comforting," he replied sarcastically, crossing his arms like a little kid.

I rubbed the back of my neck. Right. Maybe he was looking to see if Kenny hated him and I just gave it away. Real nice, Stan, real tactful. Weren't you trying to avoid him knowing what Kenny thought of him? Wasn't that your priority two seconds earlier? "I mean, you know how Kenny is," I said, trying to backtrack. "Real flaky. Probably not a great coworker."

"Oh," he said. He frowned, dropping his arms to his side. I watched as he ran his hands through his hair and stared at the floor in front of him. "I guess I don't remember that about him," he added quietly.

It's possible my attempt to erase the first wrong thing I said made it even worse. Kyle must've felt so guilty, like he'd missed so much of his friends' lives. And he had, he wasn't wrong. But I was lying, Kenny's never been flaky. Kyle felt guilty because of a complete and total lie.

Additionally, it occurred to me that Kenny might be done playing nice. What if he is a complete dick to Kyle at work? Kyle would be completely unprepared. Which was also my fault. I've been fucking up lately.

"Do you think it'll be okay?" Kyle asked, his voice so soft I barely heard it.

I decided the best course of action was to stall. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know… I know I messed up, but…" he trailed off for a moment and sighed. I was struck by how nervous he looked. "Do you think Kenny will ever forgive me?"

I paused, staring at my fingernails. I wished we'd talk about anything else. "I've never known Kenny to be one to hold a grudge," I responded carefully.

He smiled a little. Which was a good sign. "I guess that's true."

I felt sick, like I was doing something wrong. I was, I guess, I was lying to my best friend. Or my really good friend. Or my estranged friend who had returned that I had forgiven that I cared deeply about. Fuck it, I don't know.

"Have you given any more thought to what you're going to do?" he asked suddenly.

I paused and then shook my head. "My plan was that job and apartment in that other town."

"Why didn't you do that, dude?" he said, tilting his head at me. "You got a job offer in this economy- that's hard. And you just gave it up."

Anger pulsed through me and I wanted so badly to yell at him. But I just shrugged. "Wasn't ready to leave, I guess," I said coldly. I didn't think he noticed.

"Maybe you should've tried anyway," he said and I wanted to hit him.

"Probably," I said, trying to keep my voice even.

"I start today," he said, and I swear, he sounded a little smug. There was a glimmer in his eye, and maybe it was excitement but I think it was pride.

"Well, good luck," I responded.

We sat in a comfortable silence for a while after that. I was just lying on my bed, and he was lying on my floor. It was kind of nice to be around him like this again, as though he had never left in the first place. It made me feel like we could pick our friendship up where we had left off. After lying there lazily for maybe forty minutes, he said he had to go.

"I should get a ten minute break three hours into my shift," he said as he was walking out the door. "You should come by, say hi."

"Yeah, I'll do that," I responded, and then he was off.

I decided I didn't want to sit in my room alone, where my life was somewhere between packed up and not. It hurt to look at, so instead I headed to Stark's Pond.

I walked slowly, figuring I had three hours to kill. I thought about stopped at Tweek's Coffee to check in on him, since I hadn't done that since Kyle had come back, but I decided against it. I didn't see the point.

I wandered passed the school, trying hard not to look at it, and I wondered absent-mindedly is Kyle had been by here since he'd been back. We hadn't talked about the school or Cartman for the most part. Maybe he wasn't ready to, or maybe he was already over it and didn't think about it much.

By the time I got to the pond, an hour had already gone by. I don't know how I managed to stretch the short walk to last an hour, but it didn't really matter. I lay in the grass by the pond, staring at the sky and the long shadows.

I guess I fell asleep, because I dreamt that Cartman was next to me. I'm not sure if it was just a dream or a memory. To be honest, most of my memories of Carman had faded a lot. I could hardly tell the difference between them and dreams of him.

_Stan? _he said looking over at me from the corner of his eye. _Do you believe in God?_

I turned my head to look at him, frowning a little. _Fuck, I don't know. Why?_

He shrugged. _I want to believe in him. I want to call him a goddamn pussy when I die._

That sounded so ridiculous to me that I laughed. _What the fuck, man?_

He turned to me, the sun glowing directly behind him, and he grinned. _I don't know. It made you laugh though._

When I woke up, the dream was already fading, but I felt empty and alone.


End file.
